Timothy was still marvelling at the dark circling birds when the first tornado landed. Jolted from her own quiet reveries, Lightening Paw lifted her nose from a bruised daffodil and sniffed the troubled air with determined inquisitiveness. “Quick Timothy, under the dock with you,” she barked hoarsely, padding swiftly in Timothy’s direction while frantically gesturing at the approaching funnel cloud with one outstretched paw. The sky was already darkening, the warm autumn sunbeams rapidly being swallowed by a huge spiralling cloud of uprooted trees, their mighty trunks flailing helplessly…